Every day the tables turn in other direction
and I am left with the cleanup job,
we see the walls all filled with
garbage of one’s destructive life tale ,
places where humans live in fear
of living of waking up tomorrow,

hanging out by my door, throwing dice
and making noise, talking ill of each other
willy smoke is last butt with a 
cup of coffee. Indecent talk, negative vibes
kids come by  talk as they walk, learn how
to throw and never catch,,

she the lady sister girl, who is loud and obnoxious
curse the hell out of her man over spill milk, and baby girl neighbor
with butt as big as ,wacky yack junk spit mad
vibes, about her husband girly ways, next door silly
twins walk straight but drunk all day,

315 park and ride, you are in the hood, dark street
of Paterson, north of Jersey city deep on the west coast
of the united states, here we live for life is grand and
tomorrow meal is never planned, never think, never known,
for God comes when we die, and as we move around the table
this life is only ours to burn, but in the distance lies the falls

the other side of this place that few mingle with and seldom visit

a beauty in disguise seen and heard from distance wild.

I came here, as a child and still am in awe of this place and its

historic past few towns’ city and halls can match this glow of pride.